This is called fate, what it is in my fate that in not yours,
This is called good luck,
He never desired for a good-looking wife
Nor had he dreamt of
And got he so easily,
Without making an effort
And lo, see the case of mine,
I laboured hard day and night,
Spending my time in studies
But camr she not,
As she too had not to come,
So came she not.
I had thought that I would have a beautiful wife
But working,
Not like a flower,
Who would not like to work
As the work will blacken her hands
And her beauty will fade away,
But came she not,
Neither Phoolkumari, Miss Flower nor Rupkumari, Miss Facial,
So tender as a flower or make-up-after beauty
And now blame I my fate
As for my selection
As the dark-complexioned wife,
She too works not at my home
And instead of that quarrels with me so much.
My God, where to go,
Will You give me a good wife
In the next birth,
Promise, promise it, my Lord,
That You will, You will
A good-looking wife to me,
Not now as she will quarrel with me
And so desperate is she
That she may go to any extent
As for banishing and blemishing us,
Why to be in police custody,
Let it be the next time
If it is possible on Your Part,
But forget it not my tryst with a bad wife?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem